


Late Nights Make Me Love You

by damianknight



Category: Korean Drama, Kpop - Fandom, f(x), girl group - Fandom, kryber
Genre: Action/Adventure, Best Friends, College, Drama, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damianknight/pseuds/damianknight
Summary: Amber Liu is a hardworking and studious student at college, bent on attending medical school. What happens when Amber shares a moment with Krystal Jung, a student notorious for her party habits and money? Thanks for reading =]





	1. Chapter 1

Your fingers fly over the keyboard, typing away like mad. People have been begging you to complete the latest chapter of your fan fiction. Between writing applications for medical school and finishing up your junior year of college, you’ve barely had time to eat or sleep, and the fact that you had to choose between the two made you want to tear your hair out. You smile wryly as you jot down another sentence. Clearly you’re choosing to do neither as you’re sitting in the small campus café past a decent hour without having ordered anything.

Engrossed in your story, you violently start as the old courtyard clock outside mournfully strikes two. Looking up from your laptop, you stare at the deserted café, dimly lit by fluorescent lights. The emptiness doesn’t bother you. You’ve sat in this spot many times, ever since you were a freshman, either studying for classes, taking practice MCATs, or writing stories. All the student workers know you and you know all of them. Your favorite is the manager, a senior named Victoria. She’s an international student from China who seemed hell bent on mothering you. The first time she watched you pore over a problem set for sixteen continuous hours, she slammed your laptop shut, cooked you a huge meal, and frog marched you back to your dorm with instructions to rest your eyes. In hindsight, you supposed she had done you a favor, but at that moment, you had been itching to take off her head with a tornado kick for disturbing you. 

You shake your head and smile slightly at that memory. Victoria. She was probably one of your first friends on campus. But friend seemed like the wrong word—maybe older sister. Friends wouldn’t insist on you giving you a haircut because you looked like a mushroom. Or lecture you about taking more vitamins. Or leave out an urn full of steaming coffee before closing the café for the night, with dire warnings taped to the side about the effects of caffeine on sleep. You glance over at the silver pot covered with sticky notes and grin, thankful for Victoria’s thoughtfulness. 

Yawning, you check the time—a quarter past two. Technically, you aren’t supposed to be in here past closing. But knowing Victoria had its perks. She didn’t really care if you stayed late, probably because of that time you had that meltdown when the library kicked you out before you had finished your twenty-four hour take home midterm. Victoria had looked genuinely frightened when she found you sitting outside the library doors frantically scribbling away and mumbling to yourself as your timer counted down to zero. After that, she gave you the keys to the café, a most agreeable arrangement. 

Should you complete the chapter? You hum absentmindedly, fingers tapping away on the desk. It’s late and you’re tired. You’ve gotten more sleep since finishing the MCAT and your personal statement, but there’s still quite a lot of work left. Finals are coming up and while you know you’re in good shape, additional reviewing wouldn’t hurt. But readers have been commenting on your fan fiction page and you haven’t updated in a while. You should try to wrap things up, you decide. You love your readers and they deserve more. Looking over what you’ve written so far, you try to focus. Your characters are in the middle of a fight, with one of them screaming terrible, terrible things at the other. You type out a few more words, but feel unsure about how to end her rant. Maybe coffee would help. 

Trying not to imagine what Victoria would say if she saw you chugging black coffee at two in the morning, you furtively fill a cup and turn back towards your booth. Something odd gleams in the silver pot’s reflective surface, catching your eye. You swiftly glance up. There’s someone outside the café, leaning unsteadily against the glass wall. 

Weird, but not too weird. It’s a Saturday night and tons of parties are going on at this time. Whoever that person is probably was just too drunk and needed a place to sit for a while before raging again. You dispassionately return to your seat, setting down the brimming cup of coffee carefully. Back to work. You place your fingers on the keyboard in anticipation for the torrent of words to come. 

A loud sob shatters the silence. 

Where did that come from? You push yourself up from the table and look towards the figure now slouched on the ground. More sniffs follow, the person’s entire frame shaking. Concerned, you hurry forward, but check yourself. Maybe they don’t want your help. Maybe they think they’re alone and just want to cry. You’ve definitely had those moments before. 

Hesitating now, you wait and watch. The person looks like a slim girl, if her black hair cascading over her thin shoulders is anything to judge by. She has her face buried in her arms around her drawn legs, loud heart wrenching sobs wracking her frame. You can hardly bear it. You wait for maybe ten seconds more before moving again. Crying is just too hard to ignore. 

Opening the door quietly, you step out, making sure to turn the deadbolt so that the door won’t close completely. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Tiredly, you walk over and sit down next to her, tentatively patting her shoulder. She quickly looks up, the moonlight catching her tear stained face. You involuntarily gasp. 

Krystal.


	2. Where Do We Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber talks with Krystal for the first time and can't help noticing how beautiful Krystal is, even when she is in pain.

Krystal Jung is one of the most popular girls in the school. And not like the clichéd high school Mean Girls type of popular. She is in the class of people who always have hundreds of likes on every picture they post on any social media platform, perfect Instagram feeds, invitations to all the hottest parties literally around the world, casual side modeling contracts, semi-celebrity friends, private islands, you name it. She’s intelligent, charming, and beautiful to boot. Absolutely nothing like you. 

And for that reason, you don’t know what to say. Normally, you’re decent at comforting others. You’re good with words and you know that most people want listeners instead of constant advice givers when they’re sad. Maybe that’s what Krystal needs at this time. So you sit silently and wait. 

Krystal stares at you for a moment. You guess she’s surprised that you’d sit by her instead of secretly Snapchatting her and leaving, evidence that she’s not perfect. After a moment, she looks down at her arms and frowns. At least she’s stopped sniffling. 

“What are you doing?” she asks faintly, her voice quite steady even though tears track their way down her face. 

You consider this question for a moment, not wanting to screw up possibly your only interaction with a modern day princess. 

“Trying to think of what to do,” you truthfully reply. 

She utters a short laugh and hiccups. 

“Oops, hic, fair enough,” she says. 

You can’t help but smile slightly. Shifting your weight to your left, you reach into your right back pocket and pull out a red bandana and hand it to her. She holds it uncertainty.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean. I thought maybe you’d like to wipe your face,” you murmur. 

She’s still holding the bandana in her hand, brow furrowed in thought. You feel sweat gathering on your forehead for some unknown reason.

“You uh don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. I mean I just thought—.”

“No no, thank you.” 

She carefully dabs at her eyes. You notice that she has on rather heavy eye makeup. She probably did just come from a party. 

“It smells … nice,” she whispers, pressing the cloth to her nose. 

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you stammer and involuntarily blush. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? 

“No, thank you. Sorry, I think I got some makeup on it. I can wash it and give it back tomorrow or something,” she states matter of factly, holding the bandana to the light. 

You see faint smears of black eyeliner on your bandana and inwardly sigh. Krystal must have seen your disappointed face because she pockets the bandana and in one fluid movement, pushes herself up. 

“I’ll –hic- wash it now,” she slurs, swaying slightly. 

You stand up too, concerned. She looks like she can barely open her eyes, let alone operate a washing machine. At least she stopped crying. She turns on her heel and starts walking to the restrooms, staggering against the café wall. You hurriedly follow her and as you draw level, she collapses against you, hands scrabbling against your side. 

Shit.


	3. A Decision That Changes Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should Amber help Krystal out?

You barely manage to catch her before she hits the ground, and try pulling her limp body up. She sags against you despite your best efforts. You’re taller than her so you bend down, wrapping your arms around her waist and lifting her so she can find her feet.

“Krystal? Krystal! Wake up!” you command, your voice panicky. 

“Hm?” she mutters against your neck. 

So she hasn’t passed out, which is a relief. 

“Stand, please,” you order.

“But I don’t wanna.” 

She pulls back from you slightly, and pouts. Well, it seems like the sad drunk stage has passed. Her vodka laden breath fans across your face and you wrinkle your nose in mild disgust. Krystal’s eyes crinkle as she giggles.

“Haha do that again Amber! You look cute!” 

You laugh despite yourself. And freeze. How in the world does she know your name? 

“Amberrrrrr you smell good too! Do you use –hic- cologne?” Krystal asks, poking your shoulder. 

You ignore her question and try to think. She buries her face in the side of your neck. You yelp—it’s ticklish. She pulls away slightly and you seize this chance to create some distance between you two but she stubbornly locks her arms around your neck and presses herself into you. Giving up, you try to figure out what to do. 

The absurdity of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re literally holding the princess of the school. What would someone think if they saw you two? You’d get destroyed by the millions of guys and girls salivating over her. Krystal notices your frozen form and nudges you. 

“What?” she slurs. 

Regardless, you can’t leave her alone. Well, maybe you can but you don’t want to. And that in and of itself is a scary feeling, of wanting to help someone so out of your league, of your friend group, of your meager life. You push those thoughts away. Plenty of time to think later.

“Do you need to throw up?” you ask. 

“No. I’m a –hic- heavyweight.”

That makes you laugh again, grudgingly. Her? A heavyweight? She probably wouldn’t tip the scale past one hundred fifteen pounds, soaking wet. But then again, people are full of surprises. 

“What’s so funny?” she mutters, her breath hot against your ear.

“Nothing, nothing. Just the thought of you doing a keg stand,” you choke out.

You make another attempt at disentangling yourself from her but she clings to you so you give up again. Glancing around the courtyard and taking a look at the time—it’s three already—allows you to decide. The best thing would probably be to feed her some carbs and water before putting her to bed. Should you ask her to call a friend for help? Probably not—they’d all be partying. 

“Okay, Krystal I’m going to give you some bread and take you back to your dorm. Where do you live?” 

“North Quad.”

Of course. The North Quad is reserved for senior student body officers, club leaders, and the rich. It has its own dining hall, gym, lounges, library, and all the living spaces are individual suites complete with king sized beds, TVs, air conditioning, living rooms, kitchenettes, and restrooms. The rest of the plebeians lived crammed into tiny airless doubles with communal restrooms, and you’re no exception.

Well, you’d get a glimpse of the high life tonight.


	4. Unlocking The Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber is mesmerized.

You half drag Krystal into the café to collect your belongings. Dumping her unceremoniously in a booth, you quickly stuff your laptop into your backpack. The fan fiction can wait until tomorrow and besides you weren’t really into writing more anyways. You didn’t know if Krystal had food in her room so you pad over to the cupboards along the wall and using Victoria’s master key, open one and pull out a loaf of bread and some cheese. The theft makes you feel guilty so you run over to the cash register and deposit some money. Victoria’ll find it later. Placing the food in your backpack, you close it and sling it over your back before walking over to Krystal. She’s humming quietly to herself and watching you with glassy eyes. 

“Ready?” you whisper. 

For some reason, bringing Krystal into the café feels like an invasion of Victoria’s trust, but you shake off that feeling. Krystal nods and stands, steadier than before. She follows you out of the doors and absentmindedly fiddles with her hair as you turn off the lights and lock the door. 

“I’m tired. I –hic- don’t wanna walk,” Krystal complains as you set off towards the North Quad.

You look back at her. She really does look exhausted, head bowed and shoulders sagging. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” you joke. 

“Yes please,” Krystal says seriously. 

Well, you walked right into that one. If you didn’t have a backpack, at least you could have given her a piggy back ride, but that would also require her holding on, which she didn’t seem capable of doing. You take in her small frame. She didn’t look that heavy. You could probably carry her. But what if someone sees you carrying Krystal Jung of all people? You hate rumors. 

“Are you going to or not?” Krystal demanded. 

Wow. She’s pretty sassy for a drunk person. For some reason, it seemed endearing. You fight another grin and push aside your worries. With an easy motion, you sweep her off her feet and pick her up. 

“Yay! Thank youuuu,” she laughs, securely wrapping her arms around your neck. 

“No problem. I like being a servant,” you reply, feeling strangely protective.

She’s warm in your arms. You hold her gently, hands balled out of respect. She leans her head against yours, her hair brushing your cheek. You stiffen a little at the contact but relax after a moment. She smells nice too. You start walking, making the long trek to the North Quad. 

“Do you want to know why I was crying?” Krystal suddenly asks, trying to enunciate each syllable, as you start walking. 

“Sure if you want to share,” you answer, your interest piqued. 

“My ex called me,” she said simply. 

For some reason, the implication that she was crying over some boy and therefore loved him made your heart ache. What was wrong with you? Why were you even thinking about those things? Did you truly believe that you had even a remote chance with her? The heart is foolish.

“And?” you mutter.

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to get back together but I didn’t want to so he got mad.” 

Just like that, your heart lifted, ballooning in your chest and making you want to sing. She didn’t want him. This manufactured happiness at a stranger’s loss probably wasn’t too generous of you, but you couldn’t help your feelings.


	5. Listening To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krystal gives Amber a taste of her life.

“Why didn’t you want to get back together?” you ask, fighting to keep your voice steady.

She fell silent for a moment, gazing around at the academic buildings. You take this time to observe her profile, sharply highlighted by the lonely lamps lining the path. She has a beautiful nose, you decide. But the silence grew heavy.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask anything out of line. If you don’t want to answer that’s cool,” you hastily say.

“No, I just didn’t really know how to—it’s a really long story,” she replied slowly.

“I’ve got time.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

Your answer made her smile again, and your heart danced wildly. How could someone change you so completely within a couple of minutes? 

“You sureeee?” she teased, poking your cheek with her artistic nose. 

“Haha, yes, I’m sure. But you don’t have to tell me,” you reassure her. 

“No I want to tell you but I don’t want you to be bored!”

“You haven’t bored me yet so I say that’s not a big risk.”

Krystal turns her head slightly and gazes at you. She seems more awake than before, or just less drunk. You give her a comforting smile. Her lips curve up and she nods, more to herself than anything.

“Basically he and I got together two years ago and it was really good then. He was all cute and nice and I really liked him. But then he would start saying mean things to me and make me feel bad so I wanted to break up with him. Like, he would never hold my hand in public and he’d always blame me for everything and get really mad whenever I made a mistake. Oh and I found out he cheated on me so I tried to ask him about it but he just didn’t want to talk so we broke up.”

You digest what she said, involuntarily pulling her closer to your chest. 

“Did he make you cry a lot?” 

“All the time. He’d get mad at me and wouldn’t allow me to sleep in the room with him so I’d cry myself to sleep on the floor of his apartment. And he’d yell at me in public and call me stupid and other bad stuff.”

You clench your teeth.

“And then he calls me today and says he misses me and wants to get back together and I almost said yes because I’m lonely and I hate that I would say yes and so I felt angry at myself and sad and cried.”

Krystal … lonely? You take a second look at this seemingly perfect girl in front of you. Looks like everyone has problems of a sort. 

“That’s … I’m sorry,” you say, wishing you could offer more.

She doesn’t respond. You wait patiently.

“I don’t regret it but I don’t want to go back to it,” she finally claims. 

You think for a moment. Should you support her or be more reserved?

“I get that. So good job for saying no to a jerk like him.”

She falls silent again. You take greater initiative this time.

“You made the right choice. He’s not the one for you. If he makes you feel bad all the time and you guys don’t work things out normally then that’s a bad relationship. So yeah, you did the right thing for yourself.”

Krystal pulls away from you, holding you almost at arms length as she studies your face. You stare back earnestly, wondering if she can even see you when she’s this drunk. Apparently she’s satisfied because she leans against you again, curving her body around yours.

“Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome. A reminder never hurts. Thanks. For sharing.”

That makes her sit up straighter.

“You don’t need to say thank you for that! I should be the one saying thank you for sitting down and giving me your handkerchief and making me laugh and now you’re carrying me back to my dorm,” she finishes shyly. 

“Well don’t worry because I’m thinking of ways of how you can repay me. By the way, it’s a bandana not a handkerchief,” you quickly retort.

“It’s totally a handkerchief. A hanky,” she snorts derisively.

“It is not a hanky!” 

“Is too!” 

You glower at her and she snickers. You see the doorway to the North Quad building and quicken your pace. Your occasional workouts haven’t given you iron biceps and your arms are burning.

“Why are you running? You don’t have to run,” Krystal says.

“Well for a heavyweight you’re quite—“ you don’t get to finish.

“Yeah I know I’m skinny, everyone says that I’m skinny, and I can’t drink but I can!” 

“Actually I was gonna say you’re pretty heavy for a heavyweight…”

“Haha shut up! Stupid!”

Krystal’s face lights up with a smile and you’re momentarily transfixed by the sight before she smacks the back of your head. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For saying I’m fat!” 

“I didn’t say you’re fat, I said you’re heavy—ow! Okay, I’ll stop!” 

Laughing together, you make your way to the entrance and set her down. She stands with little difficulty and reaches into her back pocket for ID card. It takes her several tries to swipe her keycard and you gently take it from her and press it against the card reader machine. The reader beeps and you hand the key back to Krystal who clumsily stashes it behind her phone case. You watch the glass doors slowly swing inwards, admitting you into the luxurious realm of the North Quad.


	6. Royals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber decides to take some initiative.

You stagger forward. A thick red carpet hushes your footfalls. Oil paintings decorate the walls while the soft glow from a crystal chandelier lights the foyer. Krystal pulls you to the side, sliding her hand into yours. Your fingers interlock and you marvel at the way they fit together so perfectly, so naturally before you’re drawn out of your reverie by the sheer splendor of the great hall. Wall hangings decorate every corner of the room, tapestries imported from some Middle Eastern country hang from the ceiling and plush divans litter the floor. A fireplace quietly glows in the corner, and rows of books line mahogany shelves recessed above the mantle. 

Krystal tugs you quickly past the room and you follow, wanting to make sure that if she falls you’ll catch her again. She stumbles a bit and you haul her up, placing a hand on her waist. You two walk into another marble foyer which houses six gleaming elevators. She presses the “Up” button and an elevator dings. You follow her into the elevator and rise to the fifth floor where she exists and heads to the last door down the hall. Swiping her keycard, she lets you into her suite. 

“Home sweet home. Can I get you anything?” 

She waves her hands around. You shake your head as you take it all in. It is a simple two-room affair, with a small living room complete with dark leather furniture and a kitchenette to the side, and a bedroom in the back. You walk to the kitchenette, and open your backpack. She has a toaster oven and so you take out enough bread and cheese to make several grilled cheese sandwiches and pop them in. Turning around, you watch Krystal disappear into her bedroom and close her door. She’s definitely sobered up, but part of you wonders if she’ll remember tonight. You feel a slight twinge of disappointment when you think she won’t. 

After a few moments, the oven beeps and you slide out four slightly burnt steaming hot cheesy sandwiches. They smell delicious and you have trouble not wolfing them down yourself. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, you walk over and knock on the bedroom door. 

“Come in!” Krystal shouts, her voice muffled.

You cautiously enter and see her sprawled on her bed with her jeans half off and her shirt on the floor.

“I uh—sorry!” you stutter, trying to back out of the room not knowing whether to look or not. 

“No it’s okay! I really don’t care if you see me naked,” she shoots back casually.

“Uh yeah okay but I care and so does the rest of the world!” 

“Why do I care about that? Can you help me please?”

You gingerly place the food down with your eyes closed. 

“Jesus have you never seen a naked girl before? Open your eyes! It’s fine!” Krystal angrily demands.

You finally crack open your eyes, keeping them determinedly on her face. 

“Help me get my PJs from that drawer. That smells really good by the way, did you make it?” Krystal asks, pointing first at her dresser and then at the sandwiches. 

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You cross over to the dresser, pull open the drawer and find a white sleeveless short nightdress that you toss over to her. That was a stupid move. Krystal wildly waves her arms trying to catch the dress but it smacks her in the face.

“I can’t pull off my pants. They’re too tight,” she whines, pulling the dress over her head and unclasping her bra. Was God playing a prank? This had to be some joke. You let out a breath and walk over to her, eyes still focused on her face. Kneeling down and with a mighty tug, you manage to help her take off her pants. 

“Thanks! Just throw them anywhere. The housekeeper will take care of them.”

In the North Quad they had housekeepers? You shake your head disbelievingly as you retrieve the sandwiches and water. 

“Here, eat these and drink this. Then you might not have the worst hangover of your life,” you order. 

She obediently bites into a sandwich, and then holds it out, offering you a bite. You hesitate for a split second before biting into it too. It is delicious. You can’t help thinking that you guys had an indirect kiss. Seriously, you were so childish today. There must have been something in the water. Soon, both of you are munching away, sitting on the bed together. After a moment, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and decide to ask what’s been on your mind for the past hour. 

“So, why me?”


	7. You Give Night Meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment that passes.

“What do you mean?” she asks and licks away a crumb on the corner of her lip.

“You know what I mean. Why didn’t you just tell me to go away and instead tell me about your ex?”

She thinks for a second. You’re not sure if she’s actually thinking or the alcohol is making her brain process things more slowly. 

“I don’t know. I guess you’re a stranger and you dress really differently so you probably wouldn’t judge me. And I’m drunk,” she states, taking another bite of her sandwich.

You process that for a moment. It was probably the truth. But for some reason, it hurt. 

“So, it’s not that I look particularly trustworthy or anything?” you tease trying to mask your feelings.

“I don’t know you at all, how would I know that?” she shoots back. 

“True. But how do you know my name?” 

“Because all my premed friends are jealous of you and they always talk about you.” 

That was unexpected. You struggle to contain your confusion. Jealous of me? What was there to be jealous of? You had nothing on them. You hadn’t even applied to medical school yet! Applications open in a month. 

“But, why are they jealous of me?”

“Uh cause you’re the smartest and get the best grades and all the professors love you? I don’t know, I’m not premed. That’s just what they say. And they showed me your Facebook profile so I know what you look like. But I don’t think you’re a know it all or a kiss up. I think you work hard and I really like that. I always see you in the café late at night, even on Fridays and Saturdays when everyone else is going to party. But you’re always studying. I wish I could focus like you and do something with my life.” 

Your mouth drops in disbelief. Krystal Jung wanting to do something with her life? Her mom owns one of the biggest makeup brands in the world and her dad is a managing director at a huge bank. She’d be able to get a job without any problems, unlike literally every other economics major scrambling for a summer banking internship. She’d be able to rake in the money or go work for a nonprofit—anything at all because of her financial security. 

She must have sensed your disquiet because she laughed quietly.

“You don’t understand. I appreciate the head start my parents gave me. But I always wanted to know how far I can get myself and I want to try it out without their help.”

You feel slightly annoyed. Your parents are immigrants who work multiple jobs to keep you and your sister in school. Granted, financial aid gave you a hefty sum, but you still had several thousand you had to pay yourself. All your textbooks, your medical school practice books, your lab gear, everything, you had to buy without help. You worked all manners of odd jobs to fund your education—tutoring, dishwashing, teaching piano, gardening, you name it. All of that took a toll on you. Not on academics because you’d rather die than let anything affect your GPA, but working extra jobs and trying to maintain all your extracurriculars and grades meant you had very little time to socialize and find friends. If you were honest with yourself, Victoria probably was your only friend. You couldn’t help feel a flash of anger. Of course Krystal and all those rich kids were popular. They had time to party and make friends. People wanted to associate themselves with them to get connected. If you had Krystal’s luck and money, you’d probably have a very different college experience. And this revelation made you realize exactly how lonely you and tired you felt, especially as of late. And to think there would be people who had everything but wanted to give it all up! They wouldn’t last a day in the real world trying to fend for themselves. And they’d talk big and try it out because they knew they’d always have a security net and so wouldn’t feel afraid of failing at something. And even if they tried it out, they already had a head start and that wouldn’t be a true test of their abilities. It just wasn’t fair. You had no second chances. You couldn’t fail. You had your family depending on you to succeed so your mom didn’t have to scrub her hands to the bone washing clothes, so your dad didn’t have to beg and grovel for tips as a waiter, so your sister could actually pursue her passion for writing instead of going to school to become a nurse. 

Krystal looks at you strangely. 

“Is everything all right?” 

You glare at her, at her wide open trusting eyes, dulled slightly with drink, but bright nevertheless. And then you realize you can’t fault her because her life is all that she has ever known. She couldn’t understand you. She couldn’t ever comprehend where you came from and how far you had come. And her saying these things didn’t mean that she was a bad person. There could be no comparison. You had misdirected your anger at an individual who was a product of privilege and not at privilege itself. 

“Yes, yes. I was just thinking about privilege and how I had very little compared to you,” you respond slightly bitterly, not completely able to stop the words. 

She holds your gaze and nods solemnly.

“You’re totally right about that, and I’m sorry I can’t do anything to correct that right now.”

You shrug, still rankled.

“If it’s any consolation … I’ve always admired you. And wanted to get to know you, but being in different majors is difficult—“ 

“I guess you didn’t want to be my friend that badly then.” 

She lapses into a silence. You don’t really know what to say or if you even want to be there. But then you remember that she had been the one crying over her ex and how lonely she felt and you feel guilty. So you sigh and let go of the anger as best as you can. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being inconsiderate.”

“It’s okay, you have a reason to be.”

“Not to be mean to someone who’s been crying.”

“I meant you have a reason to feel angry with me for saying what I said about my parents and wanting to do stuff on my own.”

“It’s all right, forget it. We should go to bed.”

You take the sandwich place and bottle of water, now empty, and dump them in the kitchenette trashcan. Pulling on your backpack, you turn your torso and wave at Krystal. 

“See you around.” 

Before you can open the door, she gets up and walks over to you, enveloping you in a timid hug.

“Please, could you—could you stay for a while? I don’t want to end the night like this, angry and sad,” she says in a small voice. 

You look down at her wrapped around you. You don’t like ending on a low note either. Relenting, you shrug off your backpack and follow her back to her bed. She crawls under the white covers.

“Can we cuddle?” she asks, hands clasped together under the sheets, her eyes imploring. 

You wonder again if she’s being like this because she’s drunk. What if she wakes up in the morning and blacked out? That should be interesting. You would pay money to watch that unfold. Acquiescing, you get under the sheets and hold out your arms. 

“I’m the king of cuddling.”

She immediately launches herself into your arms, resting her head on your chest and pulling you close. Your arms close around her and you breathe in the scent of her shampoo. The lights automatically dim and you feel her breathe steadily. 

“Amber? Thank you.” 

A brief pause. 

“You’re welcome.”


	8. The Past Makes Me An Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber messes it up.

“What the—what are you doing here?” 

A pillow slams into the back of your head, pulling you from your pleasant dreams. You groggily open your eyes and are assailed with more pillow pummels. 

“Get out of my bed you creep! How did you even get in here? Oh my God did you see me naked?” 

You try to sit up in bed but a pillow smacks you in the face. Twin rivulets of blood immediately spout from your nostrils as you cover your head. 

“Get out! Get OUT! You’re bleeding on my Egyptian five thousand thread cotton sheets!” 

You frantically pinch your nose and tumble out of bed onto the hard floor, gushing blood everywhere. Opening one eye, you are shocked to see that Krystal is indeed butt naked, with only a bed sheet covering her body. The whole situation would be funny if you didn’t feel like you’d bleed out soon.

“Hey, I—I can explain if you just give me a chance to!” you screech as Krystal jumps off her bed with her sheet and advances towards you with her pillow raised.

“Explain what? There doesn’t need to be an explanation! You came in here and tried to have sex with me while I blacked out. I’m going to call campus security right now and—”

“STOP! LET ME TALK!” you shout, your voice cracking with effort.

That stopped her for a second. It would have to be enough.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re assuming that I took advantage of you, but last night I brought you back because you were too drunk and I made you some grilled cheeses and put you to sleep. And for the record, you asked me to put on your PJs for you and cuddle and I swear that’s all we did. I don’t know where your clothes are,” you speak as quickly as you can before she starts attacking you again. 

“How can I believe you?” she sneers, holding the sheet more tightly around her body. 

“You keep your PJs in that drawer, you have my red handkerchief in your jeans pocket, and can you please not hit me anymore?” you plead thickly through the blood.

Her face softens a touch as she lowers the pillow. 

“The bathroom is to your right. Go clean up and then strip my bed.”

You freeze, in the process of getting up, blood pounding in your ears.

“Excuse me? Strip your bed? You hit me in the first place! I’m not your freaking slave!” you argue.

She looks aghast.

“But it’s your blood! How can I touch that? Ugh, never mind I’m going to call housekeeping.”

You watch her as she picks up a phone mounted on the wall and dials a number.

“Spoiled brat,” you mutter as you head to her restroom.

“I heard that!” she shouts as the door closes behind you. 

You smirk and run the water, cleaning your face. The bathroom is spotlessly clean. Neat rows of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, pumice stones, bath bombs, essential oils, and more line the twelve shelves recessed in the walls. The shower has a rain ceiling and the sunken marble bathtub has gold faucets. Fluffy white towels hang on silver racks and monogrammed bathrobes peek out from the closet. You take a glance in the closet and discover that it’s three times the size of your dorm room, every inch of space absolutely filled with designer bags and luxury brands. The richness of the bathroom disgusts you and it is with a certain vehemence that you twist the sink faucet shut and march back into the room. 

Krystal has on a white shirt now and has her back turned towards you, examining something in her hands. You survey her sheets, trying to find how much blood you spilled. There, in the middle of the bed, you find a single drop the size of a pinprick. What a princess. Nevertheless, you did feel a bit guilty about spoiling her perfect bed, but that guilt is tempered by your anger at her accusing you of things you’d never even dream of doing. Especially after what happened to Hyuna. 

“What?” 

You’re broken out of your reverie with Krystal staring intently at you.

“Huh?” you ask.

“Your face went all sad. What?” 

“Nothing,” you whisper, sorrow lapping your voice. 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. 

“Fine. Be all gloomy then. By the way, I believe you,” she states matter of factly, waving your red handkerchief at you. 

“Okay,” you tacitly say.

“And I’m sorry for assuming you did something to me. That wasn’t fair so I’m sorry,” she follows up in a single breath. 

That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect Krystal of all people to apologize. Well, maybe you did after you saw a cute side of hers last night, but you passed that off as her drunken state. This apology rattled you because you didn’t know what to think of her anymore. 

“I forgive you. I guess it would be easy to assume that since you were naked and I was in your bed and you blacked out,” you respond, walking forward to collect your handkerchief. 

“Yeah but still, I’m sorry. No, let me wash it for you with these sheets. The housekeeper’s coming now. I’ll send it back to you after it’s done.”

She tosses the handkerchief onto her bed and gets up. You nod and move to collect your backpack. A part of you wants to ask her what she remembers from last night, but you refrain. To ask would be to try to become friends. And there was no way you guys could ever surmount the walls between you two. 

“Okay, seriously, what’s wrong? Your face got even sadder and it’s making me sad so just spit it out Amber.”

You stare at her, one hand trying to force your foot into your shoe that’s three sizes too small for you. 

“How do you know my name?” you probe, wondering if she’d give the same answer as last night.

“I know everyone’s name,” she shoots back a tad too nonchalantly.

You feel disappointed, but you don’t know why. Maybe because you wanted to feel like you were special, like she wanted to know your name for you. You shake your head, trying to focus. No use thinking those thoughts.

“Are you actually not going to tell me?” she asks folding her arms across her chest.

“What if I just don’t want to? It’s not very nice of you to keep asking if I’m not comfortable talking about it,” you reply curtly. 

“So you are sad. I’ll stop asking then. Glad to confirm you’re sad,” she tosses over her shoulder as she goes to the bathroom.

Again, you feel disappointed. She gave up too easily on you. You wanted her to keep asking to make sure you were all right. But you stopped her. So it was really your fault she didn’t push too hard. But still, you couldn’t help wanting her to ask. You didn’t know where this passive aggressiveness came from, except that you didn’t like it. As you finish putting on your pinching shoes and shoulder your backpack, she emerges, encased in a bathrobe. 

“Where are you going? And I didn’t realize your feet were so small,” she points out.

“Back to my poor life. And my feet aren’t. I just have these shoes,” you say, wincing.

“Why?” she seems genuinely confused, tilting her head to the side so her long hair falls off of one shoulder. 

“They were cheaper in this size,” you explain patiently. 

“Oh.”

This exchange rankles you. Again, the differences between you two are thrown into sharp relief. As if God were mocking you by showing you how impossible any sort of relationship between you two is. Annoyed, you swiftly turn on your heel and walk through the door, past her sitting room with the flat screen TV and distressed leather couches. Past the kitchen with the gleaming stainless steel appliances. Did she even need to cook? Past her shoe rack stuffed with red-soled Louboutins and limited edition Stan Smiths. You’re just about to rush out the door when you hear her padding after you.

“Hey, um, do you want to go to brunch with me? I know a nice place in town,” she offers suddenly.

You half turn and raise an eyebrow. So she did want to spend time with you after all. You’d accept this as a small victory.

“I don’t have money to spend.”

You regret what you said instantly. What was with you and pushing people away? You couldn’t understand your stupidity. Now she’d just give up again and you’d never have a chance to talk to her. Ever.

She bites her lip and fiddles with a small pendant hanging from her neck. 

“I’ll buy. I just—you just look too sad and I want to repay you for what you did last night.”

There seems to be some hope for your sorry soul.

“I’m fine and you don’t need to repay me. I didn’t do it to be paid.” 

And with that, you obstinately thunder out of her cozily packaged apartment where money didn’t mean a thing and hopes were just airy dreams after black out nights. 

You felt like crying.


	9. Choosing You Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber picks a path.

What was wrong with you? 

You quickly climb down the stairs and barrel out of the building. 

Krystal wanted to talk with you. You were just giving up an opportunity. And for what? 

You didn’t know. 

Okay, well you did know. You were doing this protect yourself because deep down you felt insecure about any potential of a future in which Krystal freaking Jung and you could be anything. You felt scared because you already thought you might be catching feelings. Her being pretty did not help. You didn’t want to sound shallow, but there it was. She was everything you ever wanted—wealthy, gorgeous, and popular. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be her or wanted her. Regardless, you knew you admired her and wanted to get to know her better. But you couldn’t chase her because you knew you’d do all the chasing. 

In what world would Krystal ever want you enough to run after you? 

Pipe dreams.

You wanted her to reach out and fight for you. Which, ironically, was what she did in her apartment, but you pushed that away. You guessed you needed her to desperately call for you, to stroke your ego and lock away your insecurities about your self worth. 

In the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t healthy. 

But who cares?

“Ow!” 

You trip and fall flat on your face, skinning your knuckles sharply. You’d been walking so furiously you completely missed the curb and smashed into the pavement. Gingerly, you roll over onto your back and sit up. Luckily, there were no cars in the street at the time. Groaning, you pull yourself to your feet, feeling oddly stiff. 

Sleeping while cuddling was hard. 

No, you mustn’t think about that.

“Man,” you inwardly sigh, looking at your bloody palms. 

What a perfect metaphor for your situation. You had been too busy caught up in your head when you fell off the edge of the sidewalk and hurt yourself. If you became friends with Krystal, the worst case scenario would be that she’d drop you when she found another boyfriend or group of friends and your feelings would get hurt. But, you’d have had some time with her. Would that be worth the pain in the end? Were you willing to live in the moment and worry about the fall later? What about the best case scenario? You quickly cut off that train of thought. You couldn’t believe in whatever future your pathetic daydreams could conjure up. It would be better to set the bar low so you wouldn’t be disappointed.

You morosely turn your hands over and over, picking out tiny bits of gravel. On the other hand, no pun intended, you think wryly, you’ve always lived life too carefully. You didn’t trust people. You knew this fear, that people didn’t really like you and would never like you, was your biggest flaw. For that reason, you didn’t put yourself out there and try to make friends. And people don’t try that hard for strangers. Victoria was the exception. She probably was lonely too and wanted to have a friend so she forced you to tolerate her. 

No, you had to stop thinking like that. Victoria wanted to be your friend because of your inherent worth. 

Did she? 

Your mind is seriously messed up.

Your hands looked pretty clean now. Wiping them on your pants, you take a look around. You still stood in the middle of the empty street, about halfway between your dorm and Krystal’s. Raising your foot, you step towards your dorm.

And then you turn around and sprint back the way you came. 

Life’s about taking risks.

You had to grasp at the opportunity because you didn’t want to regret anything. Better to have lived than not at all, you think. Sure you probably would get hurt in the end once Krystal replaced you, but there was no telling what might happen if you actually tried to be friends with her. You’d deal with the fall out later. 

Feeling slightly reckless, you quicken your pace, feet pounding the pavement. Where did this “you only live once” attitude come from? You’d always been living quietly like a wallflower, receiving chances as they sought you. Did you make the right choice? 

Of course. You couldn’t just wait for a princess to come to you. You had to go to the princess and fight the dragon. You had to fight your fear that this would all be for nothing because Krystal could—no—would be worth it. In fact, this didn’t have to be Krystal. In that moment, you resolved that you’d make a greater effort to step out of your shell to be brave and make friends. Life was a series of ups and downs. Without any low points, you couldn’t have high points because everything was a comparison. Living neutrally would not allow you to experience the full scope of life.

“Amber!”

You’re jolted out of your reverie and slacken your pace.

“Amber slow down! I’m still hungover, Jesus!” 

Krystal?

And just like that, your spirits soared.

You obediently come to a stop and watch as Krystal jogs to you. She pants and braces her hands on her knees, chest heaving. 

“What are you doing?” you innocently ask.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m chasing you down to go get brunch. We can go to the dining hall. I don’t care, I just want to talk to you,” she grunts between gasps.

“But, why? And also you’re severely out of shape,” you tease.

“Shut up. Why? Because you helped me last night and I want to help you.”

You feel a twinge of sadness. Was this just a barter for her?

“So you’re only getting brunch to pay me back for last night? I told you, you don’t need to pay me back. I wanted to help you. Don’t pity me or anything,” you snap.

Krystal stands up and angrily flings her hair over her shoulder. 

“Excuse me. I said I want to get brunch with you so stop trying to put words in my mouth. And second, if I really just saw this as pay back, I wouldn’t have run after you after you left, but I did. Because I want to get to know—well, never mind. Anyways, I would’ve caught up to you sooner but I had to put on clothes,” Krystal retorts, a finger jabbing into your chest.

You can’t help your grin as you glow inwardly. So she did chase after you because she wanted to help you for you, and not because of her conscience. Belatedly, you notice her outfit—a large white V-neck t-shirt with the front tucked into a pair of frayed jean shorts, a faded white hat on her head, and dirty white Converse sneakers. 

She looked swell. 

“All right all right, I believe you. Lead the way, princess.”

She stares at you coldly but somehow her eyes still remain warm. You feel a slight flutter of hope stirring in your chest. Perhaps, you were someone others wanted to get to know, someone worth their time. Maybe you weren’t such a boring burden after all.

“What?” Krystal asks.

“Huh?” you reply.

“You have that look on your face again. What are you thinking about?”

You take a moment to think of an answer. 

“We can talk about that over brunch.”

She opens her mouth to argue but seems to hold back.

“Right, well the main dining hall has eggs benny’s. Let’s go there.”

You hated eggs, but in that moment, they never sounded more delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading =]


	10. Not Your Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Amber know her place in the world?

Watching Krystal order brunch has got to be the funniest thing ever. It started with the seating. 

“Emril? Hi, yeah, it’s me. I know, I know, but a friend wants to eat at school so that’s why I’m calling. Okay, I would like the Jung Room prepared for two, still and sparkling with lemon in each pitcher, and jasmine. We’ll be up shortly,” Krystal chirps into her phone.

You have no idea what she’s talking about but figure she’ll explain once she’s done.

“Hey, sorry about that. I was just setting up our table and stuff,” she says by way of explanation. 

“What’s up with the Jung Room and jasmine? I assume you got us different waters? And who’s Emril?” 

She stuffs her phone into her pocket and smiles at you.

“Well, my dad donated to the school and they named a private room in the dining hall after him. Emril’s sort of a butler I guess? He just helps out with small things like setting up the room. And yes, I can’t live without my Perrier or my jasmine hand towels. You should know this! Aren’t you premed? Gotta wash your hands before you eat!” she giggles. 

You shake your head, dumbstruck. 

“Well, I use the poor version of jasmine scented hand towels, A.K.A. I lick my hands.”

Krystal breaks out into a smile and smacks your arm.

“Oh my God you’re disgusting! Thank goodness we’ll have hand towels because I can’t trust anything you touch now.”

You like this easy banter. She’s actually pretty fun to talk to and can take a joke, which is more than you can say for most people you’ve met at college. 

You two arrive at the front of the dining hall where an elegantly dressed man in a tuxedo welcomes you inside. You follow him up a flight of stairs away from the main banquet hall and into an archaic looking loft. Muted conversation drifts up from the stairwell but otherwise the place is enchantingly silent. Golden motes of dust dance through the air as you walk through the arches lining the room. At the end of the hall, there’s a heavy wooden door with a great bronze plaque that reads: K. Jung Room of Reflection. 

“Are you a Mulan fan?” you shoot at Krystal.

“Hell yeah! She’s the most badass princess out of all of them! And nice pun!” 

You grin as Emril ushers you both inside. There’s a tiny round table surrounded by four chairs in the room, and nothing else. On the table, as per Krystal’s request, two crystal decanters of water sit, bubbles sparkling in the right one. Perfectly circular lemon slices float on top of the water. The table is immaculately set for two, and the smell of jasmine perfumes the room. Emril is a master. 

“The chef is waiting. Shall I send him in?” Emril asks Krystal.

“Please. And, thank you for setting this up with such short notice.” 

“My pleasure. May I present to you, Mr. Jean Pierre.” 

Emril is replaced by a short man decked in white. He bounces forward on his toes and kisses Krystal on both cheeks. 

“Mademoiselle! You look more lovely each time I meet you! What will you have today?”

Krystal looks at you.

“Uh, could I get some cereal? And milk?” 

You can’t help feeling defensive under Krystal’s disbelieving stare. 

“What? I like cereal!” 

“Amber, we are doing brunch. This is not your middle school breakfast. Seriously!” 

You sweat, trying to remember any fancy food that sounds remotely French.

“Could I have French toast? And a baguette?”

“Jesus Christ Amber you can’t carb load in the morning! I’m so sorry Jean, but my friend’s just being silly. Please surprise us!” Krystal cuts in impatiently. 

“Wonderful!” 

Jean bounces out of the room, leaving behind a faint scent of cologne and bread. You collapse onto a chair, feeling oddly bad about yourself. 

“Will you stop making that face? It’s giving me anxiety. Just spit it out!” 

Krystal is staring at you again and you don’t even try putting up your walls. 

“I feel dumb and unsophisticated next to you. Because of all this—” you wave your hands around vaguely at the room, “—fuss.”

She looks genuinely sorry. 

“I—I’m sorry. I’m so used to doing this and I just forgot how it could make you feel. I wanted to show you how to do brunch and yeah I guess it didn’t work out then,” she mumbles, tracing a pattern on the table with her finger. 

You don’t like the way her mouth is turned down at the corners, but you don’t really know what to say. 

“Want to just go down to the dining hall?” 

You think for a moment.

“No, but next time we eat, we do it completely my way, okay?” you blurt out without thinking. 

She smiles, her eyes turning into half moons. 

“Sure!”

You feel like floating. She agreed to another date! Well, not date but close enough. 

“Ahem! May I present the first course! White truffle flavored honey with manchego and Colombian apples! Enjoy,” Jean says happily, bounching through the door with two huge platters. 

Overall, that was the fanciest meal you’ve ever had. Each course came out in a large white plate that was twenty times the size of the actual food portion. The first course tasted heavenly. The second course, foie gras with raspberry preserves and a wheat cake, made you realize you loved foie gras. The last course, crab and bacon eggs benedict with cashew cheese and caviar, convinced you that you needed your own sturgeon farm. 

This was bad. 

Krystal turned you bougie. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

You pause and look at Krystal. 

“What? I’m trying to get to know you. I thought color would be easy,” Krystal stammers. 

“Relax. I’m just surprised you’d care to know, that’s all,” you reply, shoving another forkful of egg into your mouth.

She stabs her bacon with her knife.

“Seriously, Amber? You’ve been saying those things the moment I tried to be nice to you. It’s as if you don’t want me to be your friend!” 

“No! Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just, well, it’s just weird that you would care to find out who I am.”

“And why is that?” 

You push around the rest of your food on your plate, unsure of how to respond. Should you tell her what you really think? Would she be offended? 

“Well, you’re a Jung first of all.” 

“So?” she questions, setting down her knife and fork daintily. 

“So, you’re rich! And you’ve already made your rich clique,” you mutter. 

“Who said I can’t be friends with anyone?” she shoots back, her eyes razor sharp. “You’re judging me for being rich and assuming that I wouldn’t ever talk to anyone else like some asshole but I think that’s really unfair.”

For some reason that pushes you over the edge.

“Yeah? Well maybe when you’ve had to work a whole semester just to buy practice books for the MCAT or realize your family can’t come to graduation because hotels and plane tickets are too expensive, you’d realize rich people don’t share!” you start angrily, “I’m not asking you to pay for my parents or anything but when you see shit like that then tell me the rich don’t like to just keep to the rich!”

That shuts Krystal up. You realize you’re shaking with fury, gripping the bone handled knife so tightly your knuckles turn white. The sight makes you stop. You carefully place the knife back onto the plate, next to your unfinished crab. Then you get up from the table with its pristine white cloth and glossy china plates. You don’t trust yourself around such pretty things, especially not the porcelain princess frozen to her white leather throne. 

“Where are you going Amber?” Krystal whispers, barely moving her lips. 

Before you can answer, there’s a knock on the door. 

Emril pokes his head in with an apologetic expression on his face. “Krystal, there’s someone here to see you.”

Krystal inclines her head and Emril walks into the room, flanked by two tall men robed in obsidian. A third man, even taller than the last two, strides in, his black coat flapping around his legs. You wonder how he’s not sweating, given the warmth outside. 

“Krystal, who’s this?” the man asks, not even looking at you. 

Krystal gulps, her eyes darting from you to the newcomer. 

“This is my friend. Kai, why are you here?”

The man finally looks at you. You feel like he’s trying to guess your weight, with the one over he’s giving you, from your scuffed shoes to your unruly hair. He appears dissatisfied.

“Sehun, Chen, clear the room.”

The two guys boldly walk over to you and pin your arms to your sides. You’re too confused to even resist as they frog march you from the room. The last thing you register is the man extending his arm and sweeping your plate from the table, the contents flying everywhere and splattering the walls. Before the last pieces of china settle on the ground Emril closes the door and locks it from the outside. It sounds like a tomb being shut.

What the hell was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading =D

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this!


End file.
